


Made Pain Your Lover, Infidelity Not Discreet

by t0bemadeofglass



Category: Marvel (Movies), The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Complete, F/M, Feels, Love Triangle, Multi-POV, Prompt Fill, background science bros, maybe a little bit of angst?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-05
Updated: 2013-07-23
Packaged: 2017-12-14 01:24:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 21,369
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/831092
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/t0bemadeofglass/pseuds/t0bemadeofglass
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Of all the things Natasha has done she’d have thought she’d learned about playing with fire and expecting not to get burned.  Apparently not.  Steve Rogers is safe, secure, stable and nearly without fault.  So why can’t she commit to him?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Grace de Gold wanted a love triangle, and so I present to you my attempt at a fic centered around one. There'll be more action than the first chapter suggests, I just have to get all the emotion out because . . guh. My heart. I do love these three, I'm not going to lie, but I'm sure just about everyone knows that. I throw them in this situation at every possible chance I get, haha.  
> Title comes from "Think of You" by MS MR. So good.  
> I hope you enjoy!

Natasha’s hand is under her pillow and clutching at the gun before she even registers that she’s awake.  Her eyes actually open by the time she pulls the safety back, the click beneath her fingers reassuring as her eyes flit from corner to corner of the darkened room.  Nothing.  Empty.  Safe.  At her side Steve stirs, the movement of his hand from its original position around her waist having woken him up.  He yawns and blinks sleepily at her, the lingering hold of his own restful night’s sleep holding him fast.  A moment later he’s alert, blue eyes wide and concerned as he sits up beside her.  

“Nat, what’s wrong?” His voice is quiet but firm and his hand travels from her side to her shoulder, squeezing.  She doesn’t even realize when she lays the gun back down in her lap, too focused on the way her body is shaking.  The dream had been so real, so vivid, as though someone had taken her mind and toyed with it, unraveled what they could to find her memories and blow them up, life-sized and surreal, before her eyes.  The way the man clutched at her hips as she danced, her dancing teacher a disgusting leacher of a man, his greedy grey eyes taking in all of her young innocence and ripping it away from her as easily as he did away with her dress.  She shudders.  There’s only one person who can do that.  She grits her teeth as she shakes her head, slipping back into her usual mask, her Face.  This one is embarrassed.  

“Nothing.  Just a nightmare--honestly, Steve, I’m perfectly fine.”  

The crease in his brow deepens.  He knows as well as she does when she slips into her comfort zone, hides behind the training that years and years of psychological torture and physical torment have left her with, nothing is alright.  It’s more than just a nightmare and the both of them know it.  But he says nothing, simply squeezes her shoulder once more and lays back down.  

“Do you have to sleep with a gun under your pillow?”  His voice is only halfway teasing her.  “What if you shoot someone by accident?”

“If they’re in our room to begin with they deserve to be shot.”  She doesn’t miss the way his hand searches for hers and holds it tight at the word ‘our,’ nor the way his chuckle is edging on disapproving.  Steve may be a soldier, and he may have seen horrific things in the battlefield and off, but he’s a good guy.  Too good for her, she knows this, and it’s the reason she places the gun on the bedside table and slips away from him.  She needs to take her mind off of what she’s just seen, the memories of it too bright in her mind’s eye to go back to bed.  Her heart has hardly calmed down, and that’s saying nothing about her mind.  

“Where are you going?” Steve asks.  They both know it’s a stupid question; there’s only one place either of them go when they can’t sleep.

Well, at least one place that Steve knows of.  

Natasha shoots him a small smile and leans forward to kiss his forehead.  He’s so cute when he’s worried, and her lips find their familiar place on the cusp of his worried brow.  “Don’t worry, I won’t be long.  I just have to . . . well, you know.”

She leaves it at that because it’s easier for him to fill in the blanks himself rather than to have her lie to him.  It makes the burden less severe when Steve shoots her a smile and nods, laying back down on his bed and slipping onto her side.  He knows she likes the way it smells from when she’s been there, and she’s sure the heat will be more reassuring than she could dream of being in a state like this.  With silent feet she pads from the room, goosebumps rising on her bared legs as she steps towards the last room at the edge of the hall.  She knows he’ll be awake; hell, she has her own suspicions about just how he spends the time he’s supposed to be sleeping, and if anything the nightmare she just had confirms it.  There is no way in this world or the next her dreams would be that vivid naturally.  

She doesn’t bother knocking on the door, just slips the knob of the door open and pushes her way in.  He’s sitting on his bed, a portable fire he must have conjured himself lighting the pages of the book and casting his pale skin in the faintest of lights.  He’s beautiful.  Not like Steve, who’s all hard muscle and definition and comfortable in every sense of the word.  No, Loki is as subtle as the poison slipped into one’s drink at the beginning of the night that festers and leaves you gasping by the time the evening is done, burning you up all the while.  Even from across the room, even being a frost giant, Loki burns her now, and Natasha finds she can’t get enough of it.

“I knew you’d come,” he murmurs, green eyes burning with pleasure as he marks his page and slips the book to the side where it disappears under the bed.  The wording is intentional; he likes to play on the first time they met, and though he’s loathe to admit that she beat him he finds some sort of poetic justice in the way they sparred first with words and then with emotion.  

Natasha tries not to find it endearing.  It doesn’t do to grow more attached than she already is.  Just as quiet as before she makes her way over to his bed, turns down the covers that keep him warm, and slips atop him.  He’s hard and pressing into her stomach already, the familiarity making her groan and forget about the dream.  She’ll ask him about it later; now she needs a distraction.  

It’s not moments later that he’s pushed inside of her, filling and stretching her out as her nails rake across his bare chest, threatening to draw blood as she digs into his flesh.  He hardly notices it, giving a low moan when she leans down to tug on one of his nipples with his lips as her hips begin to rise and fall.  He lets her take the control, riding him as hard as she can, arching her back as he thrusts against her.  While one of his hands take her breasts the moment she pulls away, his mouth finds her other, and his free hand finds her clit.  The attention to all three spots has her gasping and groaning in a matter of moments, and when she tumbles over the edge into an extensive orgasm he follows her blindly, hips canting upwards to press flush against hers one last time.  

She rolls off of him moments later and he lets her, kissing her neck only when she settles in her traditional place beside him. Her arms are crossed over her chest, the universal sign, Loki is quickly learning, for her being cross with him and Nat is sure he knows why, sure that is the reason for the way the corners of his lips turn upwards.  She’s just waiting for him to say it.  

Not that he will.  He loves watching her squirm and it was what made their first attempt at a relationship so disastrous.  They just wouldn’t work, they don’t work anywhere but the bedroom or the arena to verbally spar.  They’re too alike, too perfectly identical and dark.  They’d consume the other, feasting on their weaknesses until there would be nothing left but the husk of a god and a spy.  

It’s a pity they could do so well with the other.  

“What are we doing here, Loki?” She asks after a few minutes of silence, her eyes flitting to his face.  

He tries not to smirk.  “I believe it’s called having sex, though you mortals do have a wondrous amount of euphemisms for it.”  

Natasha’s fist lands on his shoulder and he lets out a harsh laugh.  “What?  Do you wish for a definition of what we just did?  I’d be more than happy to show you again,” he said, the laugh turning into a deep smirk as he turns on his side so he’s sitting up beside her.  With slow movements, slow enough that Nat can push him away if she wants, he kisses his way down her neck, biting on occasion as he goes.  He loves hearing her sharp intake of breath, loves the way her body tightens near his.  

“Stop.  You know what I mean.”  She demands.  To her surprise he does stop, eyes taking her in.  

“You came to me, Natasha.  I did not seek you out.”  He reminds her, and once it sinks in he tries not to gloat.  It’s the third time that week that she came to him either when she and Steve were getting ready to sleep and she needed a distraction, or when she seemed to want something a little out of the box.  Loki was always up for that, though he wonders why she doesn’t just break it off with Steve.  Hasn’t this taught her anything?  “After all, if you needed to be comforted, to lose yourself, why come to me and not stay with your boyfriend? Afraid of what he might think if he knew what was going on in your head?”

“Shut up,” she growls.  For being so smart and so knowledgeable about nearly everything the Asgardian can be a real idiot.  She begins to get up but a hand at her wrist stops her.  

“Natasha, think upon what I say.  You know I’m right.”  His voice is quiet, sincerity creeping in, a stranger to Natasha as she’s never heard him be anything of the sort before.  With Loki it was all half truths and manipulated emotions wrapped in smooth words and a cunning smile.  This . . . sincere, honest Loki was a myth, spoke of fondly by Thor when he regaled them with stories of he and his brother growing up.  It’s enough to make Natasha take pause.  “He’s too good for you, and I do not mean that he is a better class of mortal I simply mean that his mind is unlike yours and mine.  He does not think how we do, about the best way to get what we want or how to use someone or something to our best advantage.  He does not think of self-preservation and what we have done to stay alive; I am not even sure he has the capacity for self-preservation.  He is not learned, and he is a good leader but not wise.  He is unlike me, and he is certainly unlike you.”

“You say he’s a good thing like it’s a bad thing,” she mutters, rolling her eyes at the way he describes Steve.  “He is a good guy.  Maybe that’s why I like being around him.  What’s wrong with that?”  
“You don’t belong with him, Natasha.”  Loki’s hand comes to stroke the side of Natasha’s face.  She pulls away.

“So where do I belong, Loki?”  The question takes a half a moment to form in her mouth, her eyes locking onto him to watch the way his face changes.  It’s subtle at best but she’s learned how to read him by now.  He’s sure of his answer, so sure he allows himself to smile.  

“You belong with me, of course.  I’ve told you this before.  Many times before.”  He reminds her, and his hand reaches out to take hers. She pulls away a moment before he touches her and shakes her head.  

“Stop this, now.”  The command holds little water after what they’ve just done and his laugh is enough to tell her that.  It’s bad enough his eyes are mocking her and her weakness.  “I mean it, Loki.  This is the last time.”

“Yes, I imagine it is.  Just as the time before was the last, was it not?  And the one before that--.”

“Shut up.”  They both know that she’s ashamed, it plays out in the heaviness of her voice.  She stands and crossed towards the door, but Loki is at her back a moment later, his lips on her still bare shoulder and his hands on her wrists.  

“Don’t leave me, Natasha. Don’t leave me alone with myself.”  The plea is soft, broken only by the times he presses his lips to her skin, and she feels her heart break.  Can’t she understand that, the fear of being alone, of the monsters the mind creates in the silence and dark of the night?  Can’t she sympathize with him why he’s afraid of being alone forever?  

“Just tonight,” she murmurs, turning to stare at him.  It’s a lie, a bold-faced one that he doesn’t even bother calling her out on.  She’s said it so many times she might as well have kept quiet, and Loki presses his lips to her full ones to stop herself from saying anything else, bringing her back to his bed.  

 

Steve often wonders where it is Natasha goes when she has nightmares like she did last night; he knows better than to ask, figuring she would tell him if she needs help or someone to talk to, but he can't help but ponder that in the morning when he wakes up and she's not there. It’s cold on the other side of the bed and his heart sinks a little as he gets out to stretch.  He hopes she’s at least talking to someone about it, even if it isn’t him.  He’s worried about what all that pent up anger and despair can do to a person, knows first-hand just how important it is to defeat one’s demons.  How long did it take him to start sleeping soundly at night without nightmares or destroying his pillow?  Though he did have to admit that it had all stopped since Natasha had moved into the same room as him.  He smiles at the thought and it gives him enough energy to get up and face the day, putting a smile on his face.  Jarvis reports that it’s going to be a lovely spring day in the city and Steve wonders about packing a picnic for he and Nat.  Perhaps a little couple time is all they need; they haven’t really gotten the time in between missions.  It’s one of the reasons he’s always so sad not to wake up next to her.  He misses her.  

But he pushes those thoughts out of his head, making his way down for breakfast where he finds the woman in question, clutching the steaming coffee between her fingers like a sinner looking at a Bible for absolution.  She barely even seems to notice when he walks in, his large hand clasping her shoulder.  He wonders if she’s been training with Stark’s robots again, particularly the ones that shoot rubber bullets because when her tank top rides up to show the midriff he’s so fond of he sees a myriad of displaced bruises.  That’s probably why she’s so tired, he thinks as he wishes her good morning and kisses her cheek.  She returns the smile and the greeting before drinking deeply from her mug and watching him go about making breakfast.  Eggs, bacon, and pancakes, her favorite.  

“You’re too good to me, you know that?” She asks, having slipped down from her seat to wrap her arms around his waist.  It feels like an apology, though for what Steve can’t imagine unless she thinks herself a less than favorable person for not coming back to bed.  He finishes mixing the pancake batter before he turns to her, an easy smile playing across his face.  In her eyes he can see hope, determination, and what he likes to think is love, though she’s yet to tell him that she loves him.  Still, he doesn’t need the word, only the feeling behind it, and there’s something deeply moving about the way she draws him closer, standing on her tip toes to press her lips to his. She tastes of expensive coffee and peppermint toothpaste, strange and delicious at the same time, and when she pulls away he lets out a low groan of disappointment.  

“You deserve all the good things this world can offer you,” he murmurs back when she’s still close, ghosting his lips over her forehead before turning back to his pancakes to flip them.  If there’s one thing he’ll do his damndest to keep from doing it’s burn breakfast.  It’s the most important meal of the day, and when there’s someone else relying on him for something, well, he’s not about to let them down.  Especially not Natasha.  She hums her thanks to his previous sentiment before crossing over to the cabinets to pull out a couple plates and some silverware.  The room soon fills with the scent of fresh food, attracting the attention of the others.  Stark gripes about how he wants breakfast in bed, making Natasha roll her eyes and pop him affectionately on the back of the head.  Steve can’t stop himself from watching her interact with the others.  He finds her expressions, the masks she falls behind and the personas she takes on to be fascinating.  Each Avenger has a different one that she specifically tailors to fit their personality, so she’s gentle and smart with Bruce, snarky with Stark, open and proud with Thor, and joking with Clint.  It’s only with Loki that Steve can’t read her expression, and the god seems to think along the same lines, just as observant as Steve seems to be.  

They lock eyes for a moment, and Steve swears he sees jealousy and rage pass through Loki’s eyes before it’s covered by curiosity when Thor calls his name.  Steve wonders what that was about.  What does he have that Loki can be angry about?  His own gaze flits to Natasha, who’s teasing Clint about the many marks up and down his neck, the circles purple and bruised, bite marks from Phil’s teeth imprinted in the skin.  Yes, he supposes he has Natasha.  Loki has been trying to get his hands on her, wrap her in his web of lies and seduction since she’d broken off whatever they might have had between them off.  Steve had wondered more than once if Loki had approached her about it, but he sees no reason to worry.  She cares too much about him to do anything, this Steve knows, just the same way she knew that no matter what happened he would love her.  

“Thanks for breakfast, Steve.”  Bruce’s voice snaps him out of his memories and he shoots the good doctor a smile.  

“Glad to hear it, Bruce.  There’s coffee if you want some,” he offers, pointing to the carafe, but it’s empty.  

“I made some downstairs, I can go grab it real quick,” Natasha offers, already on her feet and halfway across the room before Steve can argue that he can just make more.  By the time the words come from his lips she’s already out the door, calling back that there’s no sense in wasting any coffee.  

In the confusion her absence leaves he doesn’t notice that Loki’s gone, too, and the god is back too quickly for him to have noticed anything wrong.  Natasha is back soon after that, the carafe from downstairs in hand, and when she stretches over to reach into Bruce’s mug the others notice similar purple markings on her stomach and hips.  Loki intentionally looks away, daintily wiping off his mouth to hide the smirk curling his lips.  Steve notices nothing, his back to them as he scrubs at the dishes.

 

Loki can’t see what Natasha does in Steven Rogers.  The man is as slow as Thor after several mugs of mead; he doesn’t even pick up on the marks on Natasha’s waist.  Does he really think her so innocent, really think the best of her where no one else will? Loki thought he did, though he’s too intelligent to assume she would stay wholly faithful, now especially.  It’s not that he doubts her character just her resolve.  

And he very much intends on taking advantage of that.  

When she disappears downstairs he takes it as an invitation and vanishes, reappearing just behind her as she walks towards the already brewed coffee.  She jumps when he rests his hand on her hip, pressing light fingers into the small hickeys he left from their evening last night.  

“What the hell were you thinking?” She hisses, glaring down at them then back at him.  “Hide them.  Now.”

“Why should I hide that you are mine?” He asks with a smirk.  She resolves herself not to punch him as hard as she can, it’ll only give more meaning to his words.  

“I am not yours; I am with Steve.  Now. Hide. Them.”  Her voice turns into a growl, eyes fierce.  Loki rolls his eyes and in a wave they’re hidden from Natasha and Steve’s views.  Loki, however, can still see them, and it gives him great pleasure to.  He very much enjoys the knowledge that Natasha comes to him at night, though her supplication of him during the day is less than ideal.  He watches her relax once she believes the marks have gone and his chest aches.  Why does she resist him so?  Why can she not see that this is the way things should be?  He takes her by the hand and pulls her back to him, back into his arms, but her hands plant themselves on his chest to keep her distance.  

“No Loki.  Not now.”

Well, it wasn’t a complete dismissal.  Not now?  At least she has begun to admit to herself that it will happen again.  And again.  And again until she finally is his.  She cannot resist him, feeds on his similarities to her and breathes in his mischief and mayhem as though it were a heady smoke she cannot get enough of, and in his own twisted way he thinks he loves her for it.  He’s tried telling her that, over and over and over again until his voice goes and his lips go numb but she doesn’t listen to him.  Love is for children she’s told him once, yet cites the emotion to Loki as to why she stays with Steve.  

Not that it surprises Loki, he realizes as he watches her sidle away.  Natasha is a child with two toys being she can only have one, and so sneaks away in the dead of night to play with the other, because what she cannot have is infinitely more fun than what she can.  It’s just a matter of time, Loki thinks, before she trades one for the other.  

At least it’s what he hopes for.  He’s been wrong before.  He manages to make it back to the kitchen before anyone really realized he’s gone, and instead picks at his food as he watches Natasha stretch over to pour Bruce coffee.  He watches the other Avengers take heed of the hickies on her flat stomach, and while Loki generally disapproves of her wearing such revealing clothing when it’s not just him around he cannot help but smile at their look of shocked surprise.  Likely Tony will bring it up to Steve in an attempt to break him further out of his shell, to congratulate him on something Steve knows not how to do, and the good Captain will be forced to realize that he is not the only lover Natasha takes to bed, no matter how she likes to pretend otherwise.  

Though she’ll somehow explain it away as she always does, he is sure, the idea of her being with another, and the possibility of her cheating will make the good Captain pull her tighter to him, hold on fast to her.  It will be the kiss of death, Loki knows, having done the same thing to her once.  Natasha cannot stand the restrictions of jealousy, nor how hot the flame burns when it is so close to her.  She’ll be forced to break it off with Steve, and while the Captain is heartbroken and Natasha wonders where she’s gone wrong, Loki will come back in to comfort her as only he can do.  His plan is foolproof, he hopes, though something about the way the Captain catches his eye worries him that he might already know, might already have some inkling of what Natasha and Loki do in the evenings.  The lack of surprise will make this plan all for naught, and so he reminds himself to exercise more caution.  As it has done in the past, subtlety will get him what he wants.  Now it is simply a matter of waiting.  

 

That night Natasha leaves him again, complaining of having tons of work to do and a headache to rival a blast from a Doombot.  Steve smiles, trying to be understanding, asking her if she’s taken anything from Tony to help with the pain.  She shakes her head, giving a quiet laugh.  “I’m a lot tougher than that, Steve.  I’ll just grab one of his bottles of vodka--that’ll make it go away.”  It was what they did in the Red Room after all, he remembers her telling him that.  With sad eyes he watches her go out the door, but not before he pulls her back into his arms and kisses her lips.  

“I love you,” he murmurs when he pulls away.  

She’s silent for half a heartbeat.  “I know,” she murmurs back, smiling up at him and cupping the side of his face, before she leaves.  

The nightmares start again when she doesn’t come back to bed.  

 

She hates herself for being weak, hates herself for not staying away, and oh she tried her hardest.  She starts out with the best intentions, winding her way down to the small office that Tony had created for her to get some work done, but it’s dull and begins to give her an actual headache.  The bottle of vodka in her hand is nearly gone by the time any of it kicks, and even then it’s only a dull buzz in the back of her mind, taking place of the silence.  

Then the thinking begins, the ideas whirling in her head like a hurricane, and she understands why Tony has such a hard time sleeping at night, why Bruce complains of him spending so much time in the workshop and lab tinkering away.  How does one shut off their brain, after all?  She thinks maybe talking about the situation will help her, but at the same time she doesn’t wish to involve anyone else.  Though she’s sure they’ve all got their suspicions and their ideas she’s not about to draw any attention to herself.  It’s her problem, not theirs.  

And yet . . .

And yet she’s never been more lost in her whole life.  She lowers her head onto her desk with a low groan, brain trying to gain some semblance of understanding over the situation by rationalizing her choices.  After all, if one relationship doesn’t work out shouldn’t that be the end?  Yet she still visits Loki.  

And telling Steve would only hurt him, so why bother with the pain and the emotions?  They made her weak, took her edge, after all, and yet her stomach flopped every time Steve told her he loved her, curling into a tight ball as though she were afraid it was going to collapse onto itself.  Then there was the look in Loki’s eyes when she told him, time and time again, that she wasn’t coming back.  He was cocky, yes, and so sure that she wouldn’t be able to keep away but deep beneath that, under the many different layers of emotion that swirled around in his gaze, was fear.  Real fear; she’s seen it once or twice in his eyes when he lost her the first time.  Fear of being alone, of being rejected like he had been so many times before.  Fear that cuts into her deeper than she likes to admit, fear that she understands and makes her want to take him into her arms.  

“Life would be so much easier if I was just a polygamist,” she murmurs against the wood of the desk, her face still pressed into it, as though she was gaining some sort of divine genius from it.  

“Does that mean I can sleep around, too?”

The voice is such a surprise that she’s thrown the knife before she recognizes that it’s Loki standing in the door.  He catches it by the blade before it can sink into his shoulder and he smiles.  His palm heals shortly after but his blood stains the blade when he offers it back to her.  

“This looks familiar,” he teases.  It’s true.  She’s used it on him several times in the past, enjoying inflicting pain in him as much as he enjoys the sensation of it.  It’s one of the few times she was able to bare herself to him, to give herself entirely to the emotion and feeling of the act.  She’d never felt so alive or had such a hard, perfect release as the time they fucked after that.  

And she’ll never be able to do that with Steve.  Loki seems to understand and smiles when she takes the blade.  He guides it to his chest, now bare as he magicks away the plain black shirt he’d shrugged on before leaving his room.  Natasha’s mouth goes dry and a heat pools between her legs at the thought.  Her eyes are hooded when they meet Loki’s, and she sees he’s every ounce as turned on as she is.  She rises from the desk and moves around to stand opposite him.  He moves with the tip of the blade, lying down as she makes him.  

 

“I told you that we were meant to be together,” Loki murmurs as she finishes atop him, her hands pressed on his chest, into the cuts she just made.  He hisses as she runs her nails down his chest, catching the edges of several of her cuts.

“Shut up or I’ll slit your throat.”  The threat is empty and they both know it.  

Loki leans up to take her chin in his hand and kisses his way up her jaw line.  She shivers as he takes one of her hands in his and pulls it into his lips, sucking his own blood off of it, the iron taste mingling with the familiar sweetness of her skin.  

“Could you do this with your Rogers?”

No, they both know she can’t but she seems hell bent on ignoring it.  She stands up after that, pulling on her clothes to likely go shower even though the sun is beginning to rise.  She’d spent yet another night with Loki, and he counts it as a victory. The marks of their coupling have already begun to heal as Natasha finishes dressing to walk out, never looking back at Loki until at the very end.  

“I can’t leave him.  I love him.”

“You say that so often,” Loki murmurs, and yet she comes back just as frequently. “I do not think you know the meaning of the word.”

“Then in that way we are perfect as you don’t, either.  Loving someone is being able to let them go if something better comes along.”

“Then I do not love you because I’ll never let you go, and you do not love Rogers enough to let him move on to someone who can truly give him what is best.”  Loki argues, standing slowly to pull on a pair of pants.  His eyes never leave hers, though, watching the confusion mix with the realization.  She bites her bottom lip and Loki wishes it was his teeth doing that, wishes to be the only one who is privy to any and all acts involving her body.  

“Stop it, Loki.”

But he hasn’t done a thing; it’s all Natasha’s doing, and the sooner she realizes it the sooner she’ll come back to him, this time for good.  At least he hopes. It’s all he has left, after all.  


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey there--finally got this chapter all finished! Hope you like it, and thanks for reading! Hope you enjoy =]

Loki doesn’t know what time Natasha left after they’d had sex, only that his bed isn’t the only empty thing that morning.  His heart aches but after looking around quickly for any signs that she was still in the room he’s soothed.  She’s left behind her jacket, an excuse to come back and visit his room if he’s ever seen one.  He reaches over to grab it from the other side of the bed, pulling it close to inhale the smell of her, letting it fill his senses as memories of their time together come flooding into his brain.  Their conversation had been enlightening, he hopes for her as well as it had been for him, and the sex had been . . . well, after she’d slaked her blood lust and he’d pulled her back into bed for a second round it had been borderline romantic.  Strange for two beings such as they were, but he wasn’t about to complain.  Anything that keeps her around.  He dresses quickly before meandering his way downstairs for a quick breakfast; there was work to be done that afternoon, and Stark was likely already griping about how Loki was taking forever.  Per the agreement that Odin and Fury had decided on Loki was to spend a full year using his magic to repair--to only repair--the damage that the Chitauri and he had created.  Odin had managed to lock the rest of his adopted son’s magic away, ensuring that he could do nothing else but rebuild the city.  The bastard.  Loki mulls over what else there is to do with his reconstruction of the current building when he hears it.  It’s enough to stop his heart and pique his interest at the same time.  

The laugh filters through the haze of light showing the kitchen is occupied, and the noise is unlike anything Loki has ever known, though he can tell immediately who it belongs to.  “Steve,” she’s falsely protesting something, voice edged with the same deliciously light and innocent laugh.  The soldier murmurs something Loki doesn’t care to hear, too focused on why he’s never heard her make that noise before.  Why hasn’t she framed his name with such adoration and genuine affection before?  Jealousy cuts him deep, deeper than ever before as he hears the softest sigh leave her lips, one he’s only ever associated with the contentment she’s shown after sex, but this is infinitely deeper.  It means something.  

His heart cracks.  

He storms his way into the kitchen, feet pounding on the hardwood floor as he passes the two. He’s intentionally being an ass, seeing green each time his eyes wandered over to the perfect couple.  What’s worse is, no matter how hard he slams the door to the refrigerator or clears his throat, or nearly shatters the glass holding his juice on the counter Natasha doesn’t even look at him, as if she doesn’t see him or hear him.  Her gaze is too focused, too filled with adoration as she stares up at her pathetic excuse of a lover.  His expression is enough to make Loki sick, so filled with hope and love it’s toxic.  How can Natasha bear to be so close to it?

“Bad morning, Loki?” Rogers asks when Loki swears, dropping the last bite of his toast on the floor.  Loki glowers, leaving the mess and the couple without so much as another word.  

“Guess so,” Steve’s murmured words follow Loki, as do Natasha’s.

“Don’t pay him any mind, Steve.  He’s not worth it.”  Her words are soft and sharp.  She knows he can hear her.  It hits him then that perhaps her jacket was left only as a memento, a souvenir because she wasn’t coming back.  He barely makes it to his bathroom before he throws up at the idea.  

 

Steve isn’t sure what brought on the difference but Natasha is remarkably more affectionate as time goes on but he’s not complaining, very much enjoying the time she now makes sure to spend with him.  He wonders if she’s somehow found out about the nightmares he’s done his very best to keep from her, hoping that it’s not out of pity that she’s responding the way she is with all the time spent, but if she knows a thing she doesn’t say it.  The routine becomes that she’ll spend the beginning of the evening doing something else, whether working out or helping Coulson with paperwork and that’s when the nightmares will hit.  It doesn’t matter how late Steve stays up, or how strongly he fights against sleep as a whole they always come back stronger than ever.  They play on his fears of being alone, of being back in the ice and unable to stop himself from losing everything he loves again.  From losing Natasha.  He shudders and punches the pillows, cries out as he tries to get it across to her that he loves her and doesn’t want to be apart from her, but it’s always someone else that reaches out to take his girlfriend from him.  He manages to wake up every time before Natasha comes back to bed, always warm from her workouts and smelling sweet as she smiles at him and climbs into bed.  

“You doing alright?” She asks one night.

Steve smiles and nods.  Yes, he’s much better now, though in the back of his mind he dreads her leaving.  He doesn’t want to think about how bad the nightmares are going to be, how little sleep he’s been getting.  So instead he holds her close, his arms wrapping around her tiny waist and his face burying itself in her neck to breathe her in.  

He hears her chuckle.  “Do you like the way I smell, Rogers?”

“Hush, Romanov.  Trying to sleep here,” he teases right back, kissing the meeting point of her neck and collar.  Is it his imagination or does she wince?  

But sleep doesn’t come to him immediately, his mind wandering too quickly, and his hands wandering along with them. They trail their way down Natasha’s side, playing with the hem of her shirt.  She just chuckles, squirming when he brushes his hand along the spot just left of her spine, the one place he’s ever found she’s ticklish.  

“Hey, watch yourself Rogers. I may be tired but I can still kick your ass.”  She threatens, though it sounds more like a yawn than anything else.  He joins in with a chuckle.  

“You’re so fearful, my love,” he admits, turning her slowly so she can look at him.  Her face is composed in an easy smile and she pulls him closer to kiss him, her lips soft against his.  He molds himself to her almost immediately.  

 

She feels guilty the whole time he strips her down, swallowing it as best she can when he works her shorts off, kissing his way down her skin, now milky in the scarce light from the moonlight that filters into the room, and pushing it away entirely when he kisses the undersides of her breasts, her tank top already tossed halfway across the room.  She allows herself to gasp in surprise, loses herself in how much she loves that he takes his time with her, memorizing the smallest of details and what she likes best.  He’s a very quick learner, and in no time he has his hips pressed flush against hers.  The softest of moans leaves his lips, the love practically dripping from it, and it falls like acid rain on her nerves and heart.  The tears are easy to push away, and she can’t help but pull herself into the only place her training has prepared her for; a headspace that allows her to compartmentalize her emotions but leaves her blank, a shell for which men could use for their pleasure.  She doesn’t like to do it, not to Steve.  He deserves so much more.  But he’s so wrapped up in her that he doesn’t notice, and she can’t look at him without imagining black hair and bright green eyes, not blond and blue.  

She moans, losing herself in the sensation as she says goodbye to the emotions and raw feeling that Steve seems to have in spades, arching her back as he pushes slowly into her, picking up speed only when she asks him to.  Loki would never have done that; he’d have made her beg, but Steve is all too accommodating.  He’s perfect and she knows she’ll have to really spend hours in the gym to exorcise all this guilt.  

She finishes not long after he does, wrapping her arms around his neck as he kisses her hard on the lips, murmuring how he loves her so when he pulls away.  

She just smiles and nods her understanding, wishing she was good enough to say it back, to feel it the way he does.  But he’s perfect in that aspect, too, cupping the side of her face and smiling as he presses one last kiss to her forehead before pulling himself from her.  She lets out a long whine of longing, not only at the loss of sensation, but at the emptiness that settled into her heart.  

What the hell was she going to do?  

 

Steve wonders why Natasha jumps at the opportunity to go on a mission the next day, all but raising her hand when Fury suggested it to all the Avengers.  She and Clint will be away for a week, and Steve stares at her sadly.  Why would she want to get away for such a long period of time?  The other Avengers seem to wonder the same thing, Stark even going as far as to ask Natasha why she’d bother with such a long case, but the spy just shrugs.  

“It’s good to be working a lot.  Keeps me focused and sharp.”

From the other side of the room there’s a titter, and Loki’s rolling his eyes when they all look at him.  

“Got something to say?” Clint asks, his voice a little edgier.  He was always on close watch whenever Loki was nearby, and since the demi-god had come to live in the tower with the rest of them Clint was usually prone to avoiding any rooms that had him in it.  Today he’d dealt with the situation but they could all see the way his hands were tremble with the force to keep them from lashing out at the man who’d made him turn on his fellow agents.  

“Nothing,” Loki drawls, looking at his nails as if he finds them infinitely more interesting than Clint.  The archer just grits his teeth but Fury calls their attention back.  It’s not going to be a dangerous mission, just a lengthy one, and Natasha and Clint are advised to suit up and leave as soon as they can.  The meeting is dismissed shortly after, and Steve walks out with Natasha’s hand in his own.  He doesn’t miss the way that they’re all watching the pair of them, yet even Tony manages to keep his mouth shut.  Something about the way they’re looking at the pair, though, it’s as if they know something Steve doesn’t, maybe even something Natasha doesn’t.  How odd.  

 

“When are you going to tell him?”  They’d been on the mission for five days when Clint finally comes around to asking it, having tiptoed most unlike himself around the subject the whole time they were away.  They’re on separate buildings, speaking through coms as they watch two figures disappear into an old warehouse.  Funny how they never seem to realize how obvious they really are; after all, who would walk into some place that’s been shut down for longer than Natasha has been in the city?  

“What are you talking about?  Tell who what?”  She plays it off, knowing it’ll get him to reveal just how much he knows, though she suspects it’s a great deal more than she gives him credit for.  There’s a pause.  “To your left, on your ten.”  

“Got it.”  She can hear him breathe as he lines up the shot.  “And you know who I mean.  The only people that don’t know that you and Loki are still fucking is Steve Rogers, so when are you going to tell him?  It’s gone on for long enough, don’t you think?”

She breathes deep, trying to calm herself, to see the objective and not the disappointed face Clint is making behind his sniper.  He hates using it, she knows, but that’s not why he’s so upset.  She can practically hear it in his voice.  “I don’t think that’s any of your business, specialist.”

“Tasha.”

Damn him, and damn her sentimentality.  He only calls her Tasha when he’s being straight with her and wants her to do the same.  She sighs.  “I don’t know.  I wasn’t trained for how to break men’s hearts and then go back to working with them the next day, to expect them to have my back.  Usually they wind up six feet under instead.”

“Well telling him you’re going to stop is usually a good start.”  There’s a small snick as the man drops, dead, in the alley.  “Move in Team.” Barton calls this over the walkie-talkies, the coms reserved for he and Natasha.  They don’t need the others listening in on their conversations.  There’s a shuffle and a confirmation on the other end that they got the man just as the second target gets ready to unknowingly move into position.  It’s practically clockwork.  

“You are going to end it, aren’t you?” Barton asks, thrown by her silence.  Again she doesn’t say a word and Barton’s sigh is loud enough that she can feel it in her bones.  “Jesus Tash.  Stringing them both along, really?  You like playing with fire.”

“I don’t know what to do, Clint.”  The admonition is soft and again takes him off guard.  “I thought it’d be easy but I can’t just . . . I can’t stop with Loki--On your eight and coming in.”

“Got it.  Why the hell not?” He waits until the second man is shrouded by a dumpster in front of him before taking him out with a clean bullet to the head.  Nat watches as his body goes limp, limp like her resolve to end it with Loki, limp like her resolve to tell Steve of her betrayal.  

“Because he needs me.”

“So does Steve.  Go in Team, target two is down.”

“Copy that.”  

Neither of them move from their position, knowing the distance from one another will keep them from settling this in blows.  It’s much better this way.  

“Steve loves me but he doesn’t need me, not the way Loki does.”  She sounds pathetic and Barton’s short burst of a laugh on the other end is enough to tell her that.

“You’re telling me that because the prince of darkness needs you, you’re going to throw away your first possible chance at happiness in forever?”  He asks, incredulity dripping from his lips.  

“But what if he can’t make me completely happy?”

Clint’s silence is enough for her to go on.  “He doesn’t work the way that you and I do, the way that Loki and I do.  He’s so good, too good for me.  Too bright and untarnished and perfect and I just can’t compete with that.  The more I try to the more exhausted I feel, like he’s the god and I’m trying to live up to him.  Loki’s as fucked up as we are.”

“Which is why you need to stay the hell away.”

“But what I’m trying to say is that I don’t have to pretend.  I can let loose and relax around him, I don’t have to try and be the perfect woman all the time.”

“Have you tried talking to him about this?”

Oh God, he must really want her to leave Loki if he’s suggesting talking his problems out; he’s all for either fighting or fucking them out, but talking?  Not usually Clint’s forte.  She relaxes for the first time, removing the binoculars she’s been pressing to her face for the past couple hours just for an excuse to do something, the same way that she was staring out at the streets of Milwaukee just as absently. “What do I say?  ‘Hey, Steve, I know you love me and everything but I’m kind of a disaster zone that you want to stay away from.  No it’s not you, it’s me.  Really.  I’m so fucked up I can’t tell my head from my ass.’  Yeah.  That’ll go over well.”

“At least you’d be honest.”  Clint’s words are laced with a joking tone and Natasha smiles in spite of herself.  

“Ass.”

“So, what’re you really going to do?”  It’s a moment before he asks that but she knows the question has been coming since he first started the damn conversation.  

She just sighs and shrugs despite him not being able to see it.  “What can I do?  I suppose I can’t keep them both?”

“Honey, if it were a perfect world.”  

Damn it all for not being so.  

 


	3. Chapter 3

The time Natasha spends away is always heralded by troubled days and sleepless nights, though with the resurgence of his memories and fears of the past they only get worse, forcing Steve to take refuge in the only thing he knows.  When Fury actually asks him to lay off the punching bags until Stark can create a stronger, more durable one Steve knows he’s gone too far, and tries switching to running instead.  It feels too familiar to how his nightmares leave him, chest heaving and mind aching at the terror of not being fast enough, not getting there in time to save someone, and more often than not in the dreams that find him each night he’s not fast enough to save Natasha.  She often looks up at him with bright blue eyes, almost as blue as Barton’s when he was under the tesseract’s possession, and flits out of his reach and into the hold of someone else, someone steeped in shadow.  His feet become dipped in ice, he can hear the rush of water as it covers his body, and before he can so much as scream he's frozen, arm outstretched to try and reach for her. He wakes up every night in a cold sweat and with a headache so strong it sends him reeling.  

The last night before Natasha is due to return he meets Loki in the gym for one of his late night sparring sessions with himself, and the demi-god’s presence is enough to put Steve on high alert.  He’s never so much as seen the man come near the room, leaving Steve to wonder what had bothered the man so much that he had left the confines of his room to come down, grab a handful of daggers, and throw them nearly nonstop at the target in front of him.  They hit the center most every time, and Steve can’t help but think that if he and Clint were ever able to reconcile they would be a force so formidable it sent shivers down Steve’s spine.  A pity Loki never seems interested in changing his ways to join up.  

“Long night?” Steve asks when Loki pauses to move and grab the knives from the stuck target.  The man’s eyes shoot over to Steve and his gaze narrows for the slightest of moments.  

“I suppose you could say that,” he responds, yanking one particularly dug in knife out of the center of the target.  “And you?  Thor says it’s rare a day when you do not come here to work, so I suppose I should have anticipated your presence.”

“Can’t sleep,” Steve explains with a shrug.  “Thought I might as well be productive.”

Loki murmurs something under his breath that Steve can’t understand, and lets it go after that to take his place at the track.  His legs still ache from the last evening where he pushed himself even after having collapsed many a time.  After a particularly vicious nightmare, however, he couldn’t help himself.  

“How are things between you and Natasha?” Loki asks after Steve has already started running, forcing him to slow his pace enough to keep up a conversation.  

The blond shrugs. “Well enough, I guess.  I don’t like it when she’s gone for so long.”

“My, aren’t you dependent on her.”  The words come out sounding of an insult more than just something he had noticed. Steve grits his teeth, ignoring it. He can't help it if he feels better with Natasha near him, focuses on what he's supposed to do when he knows she's safe, sleeps better when she's beside him. Maybe he is dependent on he, but he would rather know his weakness then be taken aback by it.  Neither man says another thing to the other for some time, not until Loki asks: “What would happen if she moved on?  What would you do?”

“You mean like how she moved from you to me?” Steve asks, unable to stop himself from rubbing salt into the wound.  He knows Loki still has feelings for her; it’s obvious in everything the man does, but Natasha decided to be with Steve, and if the god cannot handle it then he doesn’t have to look .

“Yes,” Loki grits, his eyes narrowed.  “But if she left you for someone else.  What would you do?”

It takes him a few laps to come up with an answer, though there are many things he wants to say to the man asking the questions.  He wants to say that Natasha won’t leave him, that he respects her far too much and does everything he can for her.  He won’t say the idea of her leaving never crosses his mind, because he’s always afraid of that, but he’s confident enough that she won’t, and he tries to explain that to Loki.  “If she leaves me I’ll be devastated, but I’ll never stop fighting for her,” he says, coming to a halt in front of the god, who’d stepped in front of Steve’s path.  His green eyes met Steve’s blue ones and both refused to give in.  

“What if she doesn’t want you to fight for her?  What if she doesn’t want you anymore?” Loki asks, bringing himself to his full height so he stands an inch or so taller than Steve.  Steve hates that, reminded far too much of the bullies that used to push him around in alleyways, throwing their weight and height around as though it made them better.  

Steve just smirked.  “You really think she could walk away from the one man who’s given her everything she ever wanted?”

“Do not flatter yourself to think that you’re all she could ever want,” Loki sneers.  “I’ll only be waiting for you to fail so I can pick her back up and put her together again.”  He doesn’t say another word before he pulls away from Steve and disappears out the door.  Steve watches him go, his hands clenched into fists at his sides, doing all he can to not turn the retreating figure around and punch him so hard they feel it on Asgard.  

 

Loki watches Steve over the next few days, knowing that Stark and Banner and Thor are keeping close tabs on him as well, making sure the god doesn’t create the mischief he’s been named after.  It won’t do, after all, to have their captain fall apart.  He receives warnings from Stark--subtle ones, surprisingly, though perhaps he does not want to attract Steve’s attention--to leave the pair alone, to stop the tryst that Loki is hell-bent on continuing, and as he does with every warning glare or rough shoulder as he passes by he ignores it.  What do they know about the bond that he and Natasha share?  Nothing.  If the Norns were fair and just he and Nat would still be together, and he intends on proving that they belong to one another the moment she gets back.  He can prove it and he knows he can, so when there’s the notice that she and Barton are en route he sets his plan into motion, leaving a note in her private locker to visit him that evening.  He’ll make the choice between himself and Steve easier for her, whether or not she wants it to be.  It’s gone on long enough, Loki realizes as he continues laying the groundwork of his plan down; the occasional article of clothing here, the scratches along the wall there.  He lays back in bed when it’s all done, Jarvis telling him that Natasha and Clint are roughly ten minutes away, and a slow smile crosses over the trickster’s face.  This is what he was born to do, cause mayhem and mischief, panic and pressure, and he’s damn good at it.  

Steve wants to prove he’ll fight for Natasha, then Loki is prepared to do the same.  

 

Natasha can’t help but smile when they touch back down, the last half of the flight returning them home having been spent joking around about some of their favorite missions.  Clint always has a way of making her smile, and she couldn’t have asked for a better partner, and even if he drives her absolutely crazy most of the time he is still her best friend.  After all, no one else can liken the situation she’s in to the three-way mob war they fought in Turkey some four years ago, all of which had been started over one very rare, limited edition comic book and had culminated in twenty or so deaths, thirty odd injuries, and one very pissed off mob boss who had gotten blood on said book when he’d pried it out of the fingers of who had once been his friend.  While Natasha hopes that this situation, or tryst, or whatever Clint seems to feel like calling it won’t end the same way she can’t help but feel nervous.  Both Loki and Steve are incredibly passionate creatures and even if their passions lie in exact opposites she hopes that they’ll at least hear her out most of the time.  If she ever finds the will to explain it to Steve, if she can ever manage to leave Loki.  

She makes a beeline for the weapons room once she gets back, footsteps light in the hall, to go clean and replace her weapons.  It is a ritual she’s well known for so she doesn’t have to wonder how someone--Loki, she discovers--knows to leave her a note.  

My darling,

I missed you while you were away--don’t laugh--and I wish to see you the second you are available.  Please.  Every second away from you is agony; please don’t make me suffer it for longer.  

His signature is flowery at the bottom and for a moment she considers not going.  Let him suffer, but a small piece of her old self twinges.  She can’t bare it, and resolves to visit once she finishes with her guns and knives.  It takes but five minutes and she’s pushing her way slowly into Loki’s room.  It’s illuminated by candles alone, and though she’s been expecting something like this it takes her breath away for the quickest of moments.  Loki was never into cheesy, romantic things, preferring them to be quick and passionate rather than slow and love-inspired.  Not like Steve.  

No, she doesn’t want to compare them, not now.  She’ll let Loki have his moment, his one, final moment, before she breaks it off she decides.  She’ll leave this memory behind as her parting gift.  

She doesn’t see him at first, blinking in the growing dark of the room, adjusting to the candlelight and following the trail of white petals towards the bed.  Really?  She smiles in spite of herself, unsure whether she should be expecting . . . well, it was strange for him.  He steps from the dark on the side of the room as she nears, smiling and pulling her slowly into his arms and planting his lips on hers.  

“I missed you,” he breathes against her mouth before trailing his kisses down from her lips to her throat, then to her collarbone.  His fingers are nimble as they pull the zipper of her catsuit down.  She allows it, shimmying out of that with a small move that sends everything bouncing just the way he likes.  He groans as he pulls away to watch her move, his eyes hungry.  

“What’s the occasion?” She teases when he leads her slowly to the bed and lays her down.  He doesn’t know it’s their last time, so what’s his excuse?

“Do I need an excuse to dote on you?” He asks, sounding offended.  “I thought I might try and give you what you want; something wholesome and . . “ The word he’s looking for seems to stick in his throat, forcing him to cough.  “Well, you always wanted me to change.  Here I am.”  

But changing sexual tactics and changing one’s personality are completely different, this Natasha knows all too well.  Honestly, does he think he can trick her with that?  She just chuckles and kisses him, cutting off any further explanation he may have, and he begins to undress himself, acting eager to press his skin against hers.  She cannot doubt the sincerity in his words that he did miss her while she was away, and she gives a small shiver to think what he’ll say to try and convince her to change her mind once it’s been made up.  She won’t cave in the next time, though, she promises herself as he slips into her, a groan of relief passing her lips.  There was little more that made her feel as good as sex after a mission.  

As Loki increases the pace, trailing his lips down her throat as he pushes her up so she’s nearly sitting up, she sees the door open, the crack of light growing only to be cut into by the shadow of a figure.  She yanks her eyes open to see, heart jumping into her throat.  

 

Steve knew what he was going to find before he opened the door, and the pieces had begun to fit together as he’d followed the perverse clues leading him there.  The jacket that had been flung onto their bed didn’t smell like her but something more otherworldly, the same scent that had punctured his senses the night that he and Loki had met in the training room, as though the man had been close to the article of clothing but . . . well that was impossible.  Then there had been the note he’d found crumpled near the trash, having been determined to clean the whole room to take his mind off of the previous revelation.  

My darling,

By the time you read this you must know that I miss you--don’t laugh at me--and will be aching to have you in my arms and in my bed once more.  Meet me once you get back from your mission, however long it may be.  I’ll be waiting for you.

It was signed by Loki, and though Steve was tempted to consider it something old that he had written to her before they had called off their relationship he couldn’t shake the feeling that it was strange of her to have kept it if it was so ancient.  Natasha was many things, but sentimental about small things like love letters?  Well, she never had been with him.  

But he’d never been as good with words as Loki, either.  

His hunt finished the moment he heard her voice, soft and filtering through Loki’s door, which he had been casually passing by on his way to the weapons hall, where he was sure he would find Natasha.  She didn’t sound like Natasha, though, her voice cracking with movement and passion, moaning out another man’s name followed by the soft slap of skin against skin.  Her name, whispered like a reverent prayer, followed in a voice he never cared to hear again.  With a tight throat he’d opened the door, and that as where he was still standing, watching as Natasha’s face changes from that of pleasure to horror so quickly he’d have missed it if he’d blinked.  Loki is pushed in to the hilt inside of her and makes no sign of stopping, eliciting another moan--this one involuntary, Steve thinks--from Natasha’s lips.  She pushes him off a moment later, scrambling from the bed to stand, naked, in front of her boyfriend.  

“Steve.”  His name is broken on her lips, nowhere as sexy or intimate as that of who he’d thought to be her past lover.  She doesn’t try to lie to him, or cover herself up, but her eyes bore into his for so long he swears he’s going blind.  No, it’s just tears clouding his vision, and they drop down his cheeks as he blinks furiously.  

“Go to hell,” he snarls, turning on his heel.  He’s not fast enough to miss the smirk that plays on Loki’s face, and had he not already been resolved to disappear off the face of the planet he’d have entertained the idea of beating the smug look off the god’s face.  And then some.  

Natasha calls out after him, and there’s a hard smack as he hears Loki try to hold her back.  

 

Loki rubs his cheek when Natasha disappears out of the door, a blanket wrapped around her body as she makes an impromptu walk of shame.  Well, that had worked out more perfectly than he’d thought possible.  There was no way they could stay together after that.  

 

“Steve, please.  Please.”  Natasha never begs--hasn’t begged since she was in the Red Room, but if it gets Steve to stop she’s prepared to fall to her knees and kiss his feet.  Hell, she’d do it just for him to turn and look at her.  He does neither, storming down the hall, ignoring how she calls out behind him.  When she manages to catch up with his wide steps and place a hand on his shoulder he smacks it away.  It’s the first time he’s raised a hand to her since, well, ever, and when he turns to glower at her she can see short-lived regret in the corners of his eyes.  It’s swallowed up by fury and, even worse, agony moments later.  

“Don’t touch me--don’t talk to me, just stay the fuck away!”  

She’s never heard him curse before, and that she’s driven him--pure, wholesome, good Steve Rogers to such vulgarities speaks volumes for how deeply this has affected him.  She feels tears prick the corners of her eyes as he sprints down the rest of the hall and through the door at the end of it.  If he’s not going to the trainingroom she has no idea where to expect him, and, throat tightening, she resigns herself to going back to their room.  

Her room, it turns out.  Steve doesn’t return all evening, Natasha having stayed up the whole period of time to make sure she didn’t miss him.  When she asks Jarvis about it he tells her that the good Captain was put out on a mission not three hours ago, somewhere deep in the countryside of Bulgaria.  

She makes flight plans that morning to chase him down.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Andddd here come the feels. Hope you enjoyed the chapter, and thanks so much for reading!


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, I finally managed to write this, sorry it took so long, but I hope it's well worth it! As ever, thank you all so much for the comments, views, and for sticking along with this. It makes writing this incredibly feel-filled fic just a little bit easier. <3  
> Edited: For whatever the reason, my text cut off mid-sentence the first time around, so I fixed it this time. Sorry about that!

“Natasha you need to give him space.  He’ll be fine on his own but you can’t go after him right now.”  Tony watches her pace back and forth from her bed, the same bed that she’s refused to sleep in since Steve left.  Not that she has gotten much sleep, anyway.  No, her mind has been keeping her painfully awake, replaying how the hurt on Steve’s face and in his words, the way she swore she saw tears starting in the corners of his eyes, for a good twenty-four hours, ever since he took the surprise mission to Bulgaria.  She can’t think past that, the coordinates already stored in the jet that’s been ready for her to leave for the past few hours.  Those hours she’s been spending pacing in her room, trying to pack clothes without knowing how long she’ll be gone, where she’ll even be, or what the hell she needs to worry about clothing for.  Steve is out there and she has to--she has to set this right.  She takes a shaky breath, looking over at Stark.  

“What?”  If she’s honest she hasn’t been listening to him for some time.  

He just rolls his eyes and stands, walking over to settle his hands on her shoulder and pat them gently.  She looks up at him, her eyes wide and surprised and more panicked than he’s ever seen.  If he’s honest he’s never seen her look so human.  And Steve did this to her?

“Look, I don’t know what you did to piss him off, but this is Steve.  If he doesn’t want to be by you so much that he had to leave the country then following him is NOT a good idea, Natasha.  No matter how badly you want to.”

But he doesn’t understand that it doesn’t make her feel any better.  She just chokes back a sob, nodding and pulling away from him.  She’s always been so strong, at least until this point.  There hasn’t been a time that she’s ever felt so vulnerable, so weak, not since before she’d taken the leap of faith to join the Avengers.  Tony’s dark eyes search hers, trying to find some semblance of the woman he’s become so familiar working with, so accustomed to seeing every day he comes downstairs to grab coffee.  She’s gone, hidden somewhere within the depths of this new, scared girl standing in front of him, one who sees her world crumbling apart.  He knows because he looked the same way his parents died, though only his mirror knows that.  He cups the side of her face gently, lips parting to say something, but she pulls away.  

“Let me go, Tony.  I have to go to him,” she says, the words coming out more a growl than anything.  She slams the top of her suitcase down, resolve stiffening within her as she tries to hold her head high, hide the pain he saw not half a minute ago.  

“It’s not going to work, or even help--.”

“I don’t care, Tony.  I don’t care!”  He’d never heard her voice rise like this, the final words cracking at the very end. She takes a deep breath to stifle the emotion, to swallow hard and look away from his surprised eyes, and she lets out a soft puff of air.  “I have to try.  I have to let him know--have to let him know that I love him.  I really do.”

“You mean he doesn’t--Jesus, Tash.”  Stark runs a hand through his hair before shaking his head, unable to believe what she’s been telling him.  “Look, I know I’m not a paradigm of perfect relationships.  Hell, I’m probably the worst person to get advice from, but telling him that now, instead of before, is a very bad idea.  He’s going to think you’re saying it simply because you want him back, because you’re going to try and string him up again, and though he may be Captain America and perfect and spangly with second chances to throw around, this isn’t Cap we’re dealing with. This is a very hurt, wounded Steve Rogers.  You did that to him, so give him some time.”

She doesn’t say anything for some time, just clutches the handle of her suitcase and moves to the doorway.  His words hold her there for a moment before she says she’ll be gone for some time and will let him know if she needs anything.  Stark just sighs, watching her leave the room.  

 

Loki isn’t sure what to expect when Natasha comes to his door, but he smiles nonetheless.  “My darling, how might I--?”

There’s a crack as his head whips to the other side, the outline of Natasha’s hand print against his skin glowing red and letting off such heat it startles the god.  His fingers ghost over the handprint and he turns to her in disbelief, his gaze turning cool.  Has she lost her mind?

“I’d have thought you’d be nicer to the man who finally got you out of that disgusting excuse of a relationship.  A hug or a kiss at the very least would be appropriate.”  

“Go to hell,” she snarls as she pushes past him.  He makes to grab her wrist but she all but breaks his arm in the process, reminding him that he’s an idiot for trying to stop a spy.  If he was made of more brittle stuff he might have been on the floor crying in agony, as it was her attack is no more than a minor irritation.  “I love him,” she finally yells, shoving Loki backwards. “I don’t want to be with you--I can’t, Loki!  We don’t work together, and you can’t just destroy a relationship with a man I care about because you got jealous.”

Oh but he can and he did, and his lips quirk up at that.  As she turns to walk away he has her again by the shoulder, spinning her around to face him once more and ducking to the left to avoid the punch that would have hit his face.  “Don’t walk away from me, Natasha.” He says once he’s righted himself.  His eyes search hers, looking for some recognition, for something deeper than the hate currently emanating from her body at his very proximity.  “Please don’t walk away from me again.”  His voice grows quieter and, not caring that she might hurt him (because there’s little she can do that he’s not already done to his self, both physical and mental) he reaches one hand up to stroke her cheek.  When she doesn’t recoil he takes it as a good sign.  “I love you, or as close as I can, and I know you feel the same for me.  You can’t give me up; even when you had the soldier you returned to me over, and over again.  It’s not just the sex, it’s not just that I run a few degrees cooler than he does.  You and I both know that we belong together, and it may not be perfect but it’s as close to perfection as we’re going to get.  Anything else will simply hurt us and those around us.”

Her eyes close and for a moment Loki is sure he has her once again, positive he’s played his hand just the way he should have to get her to stay.  He starts to bring his lips closer to hers, eager to feel her pressed against him as before, when the bottom of her hand slams into the bridge of his nose.  Blood fills his mouth and he splutters for a moment, allowing Natasha time to escape from his grip, shaking her hand as the pain spikes up her arm.  

“Fuck off, Loki,” she growls.  “I was leaving you that night--the one you used to try and break Steve and I up?  That was my last hurrah,” she rolls her eyes at the phrase.  “Because I want to be with Steve.  I already told you: I love him.”

No she doesn’t, but neither of them say another word as she turns on her heel to walk away, bags back in hand and a deeper set resolution in her shoulders.  His hand covers his nose, holding it tight to try and stem the blood flow.  She’ll come back, he assures himself as she disappears from view.  She has to.  There’s no way that Rogers will consider taking him back, and if Natasha isn’t honest with him about how long it’s been happening . . . well, for once Loki thinks he can make an exception to tell the truth.  He wishes he’d had the foresight to have done it from the beginning.  

 

Natasha doesn’t find Steve in Bulgaria until the second night she’s there.  The house he was supposed to be in was empty when she first arrived, and though it terrified her at first, not sure whether or not he was alright, she got news from headquarters that he’d moved.  She manages to track down the small flat he’s rented for the week, even though the mission hadn’t even taken him a couple days to already complete, and after depositing her few things in a nearby hotel she catches sight of him leaving.  He doesn’t look a thing like the man she once spent her evenings with; his hair is tousled, a black leather jacket is held tight around him like a security blanket though the night is quite warm, and the rest of his outfit couldn’t have been any different than the forties inspired clothing he owned back home.  Only his gait sets him apart, still as determined and forceful as ever, yet he manages to sneak in and out around those in his way without so much as jostling him.  Natasha waits a moment, then follows him, keeping a good few paces behind him for good measure.  He doesn’t seem to notice her, and if he does he certainly doesn’t care, but that’s not what gets Natasha.  He’s headed for a club, she realizes, and her eyes go wide.  Since when did Steve do anything other than the foxtrot?  

The bass of the club is already pounding so loud Nat can feel it in her heart, and after Steve steps inside, nodding his head to the bouncer as though they were friends, she waits a few more minutes before making it in herself.  As with most clubs the lighting is minimal, reserved to black lights and flashing strobe lights in two corners of the room.  It makes everything seem to move in slow motion, and though Natasha has a quick moment of panic, of worry that she may not find him, she swallows it as she recognizes his broad shoulders.  He’s already got a partner, the short woman grinding her hips into Steve’s, one arm wrapped around his neck as she stares up at him.  He can’t look any more bored, Nat thinks with a relieved sigh on her behalf.  For a second she worried she’d made it there too late, and her panic slowly turns to envy and fury at the way the woman licks her lips as she stares up at Natasha’s man.  Red takes over her vision and in a few moments she’s behind the super soldier, one hand tapping his shoulder.  He stiffens when he turns, his eyes blank as he stares at her.  It makes her stomach plummet.

“Steve, let me explain--.”

“Excuse me,” the woman says, her English broken as she narrows her eyes at Natasha.  “He is my partner.  Go away.”

It takes all the restraint Natasha has to not backhand the woman and break her spine with the strike.  Her eyes narrow instead, growing dangerous as she snarls at the woman to get the hell away, her meaning perfectly clear even if the woman doesn’t understand the words.  

“Natasha, I don’t want you to explain,” Steve’s voice is just loud enough that she can hear it over the music, but she would’ve rather he shouted at her.  Her heart sinks into her stomach, her eyes wide as she stares up at him, vulnerable for the first time.  He shrinks away from it.  “I don’t think I need to hear what happened; I saw it.  I don’t want to think about it anymore, so thanks but no.  I’m going to stay here.”

“Steve, please.”  Natasha has never once begged a man for anything since she got out of the Red Room, not seriously at the very least, but there she is, all but on her knees in front of him pleading for him to listen.  He just turns away, and for a moment Nat’s sure her heart shatters as it drops from her chest onto the floor.  It was a long shot, she tries to remind herself as she takes a few steps away and turns her head so he can’t see the tears pooling and falling down her cheeks, his rejection harsher than any punishment for a bad job she’s ever taken.  

 

She thinks he doesn’t catch the tremor in her chin, or the way her eyes go wide and fill with betrayal and hurt before she manages to turn away, but there isn’t much that Steve misses.  He only wishes that he did.  Not half a minute after Natasha leaves he pulls away from the girl--Anya--who has him by the neck. She cries out in displeasure but he ignores it.  He has more important matters to attend to.  Despite the short time she’s had to disappear she’s made use of it, proving to Steve once again why she’s the best at her job.  It’s a miracle he catches up with her, if he thinks about it, and when he does he pulls her aside.  There’s an abandoned sliver of wall he slams her up against, his lips descending on hers.  Her mouth tastes of salt, and it’s not a half a moment later she responds, holding his face in her hands as he wraps one arm around her waist.  It’s not their usual kiss, the sweet, slow kisses he’s used to planting on her lips, allowing them time to savor the feeling of one another.  No, this is full of teeth and groans; under his hands her skin erupts in goosebumps and as he brings one to her neck, holding her by the back of it, twisting his fingers in her hair and pulling so she gasps into the kiss, allowing him to deepen it further.  He revels in the difference between then and now.  She wanted something more passionate, more painful and harsh?  He can give it.  He grinds his hips against hers, growling into her mouth with want as her body shakes with a moan.  

“H-here?” Natasha actually stutters, her eyes flickering up to stare at him, still watery.  He wipes away the tracks of her tears and shakes his head.  

“My place.  Yours is just across the street, right?” He smirks, knowing her far too well.  She offers him a smile and they say little more.  Steve’s hand stays around her hips as they step out of the club, grab a cab, and hurry off to Steve’s apartment.  Natasha doesn’t seem to know quite what to do, one hand in his, and her lips opening and closing every so often as she fights with herself to speak.  Steve doesn’t want to speak, and so when she catches his eye and looks about to say something he simply shakes his head.  He doesn't need to hear it, not now.  It’s already weighed so heavily on his mind; what more is there to be said?  Perhaps he’ll hear it in the morning, but that evening?  His mind is elsewhere.  

He tips the cabbie generously when they get there, and with quick feet takes the stairs three at a time until he reaches the fifth floor, Natasha hot on his heels.  He pushes through the newly unlocked door, and pulls her along.  She’s back in his arms and her body pressed hard against his by the time the door closes and his hand has flipped the lock.  She’s soft and malleable in his grip, and his lips trail down her throat, biting and sucking when he gets the chance, relishing the moans that leave her lips, glad to hear his name coated in her voice.  If he’s made her unhappy in the past, something he hadn’t thought about before he’d discovered her and Loki and since has only been able to consider, he swears to make it up that night.  He grips her harder, all but ripping her clothing off as they make their way to his small bedroom, and when they’re finally both naked and atop the bed, Steve buried so deep inside Natasha it’ll be a miracle if he ever gets out, he sets to making her forget she’s ever laid with another man.  If it’s a brutal fucking she wants, Steve thinks to himself as his pace turns punishing and his teeth leave fresh marks behind on her pale skin, her breasts and throat and collar bearing most of the damage, then he’ll give it to her.  He’ll give her anything.  She wraps her legs around his hips, her head tipping back as she screams, likely waking the neighbors above and below them.  Her hands rake down his back, leaving angry red marks all the way down, and when she finally comes, her body tightening around him so much it’s a miracle he doesn’t cry out himself with anguish, it’s his name on her lips.  Not Loki’s, his.  It only makes him fuck her harder, the rhythm of their hips meeting one another taking over the rhythm of the heart in his chest that still beats for her, and likely always will.  

Her voice is raw by the time she collapses with her third orgasm, Steve finally coming around to his own, rolling off of her after his body has stopped spasming each time she tightens around him.  Neither say a word, Natasha scooting to make herself comfortable in his arms and Steve simply contents himself with holding her.  Tomorrow will come soon enough and so for now he’s determined to enjoy this small success while it lasts.  

 

At the tower Loki screams in his frustration; he’d made the mistake of scrying to find Natasha after his curiosity had gotten the better of him.  The form is not one he’s best at but in a pinch it works, though the sight of the Captain and Widow together, the former driving the woman in his arms over the edge, is not one that Loki was hoping to find.  None of the others bother him that evening, allowing him to level his entire floor as his fury ebbs and flows into sorrow, leaving him on his knees sobbing by the time the sun peeks over the city of Manhattan.  He keens her name into his palms, hands having come to cover his mouth as he cries, teeth cutting into the soft skin in his preventative measures to keep from being heard.  

He’ll get her back.  He has to.  

 


	5. Chapter 5

The heat of Steve beside her is the best thing Natasha can think of waking up to, besides maybe a second round or a cup of coffee or a Hydra official to interrogate, but it’s certainly up there.  She smiles as she rolls onto her side, pressing her lips to the super soldier’s shoulder and feeling him stir beside her.  

“Good morning, Steve,” she murmurs, but the joy in her voice is cut short by the way his body goes still for a moment, frozen with--what, regret?  Anguish?  His face is turned away from her so she can’t see, but instead she tries running a hand down his flat stomach, frowning when he pulls away.  Oh.  She supposes it was stupid of her to think that they might have gotten over whatever had been the problem with a little fucking, but she had hoped it might at least soften him up.  Now, as he sits up and doesn’t even look at her, all he seems to do is regret it.  

“Steve--.”  
“I heard you, Natasha.”  It’s the second time she’s ever heard his voice so dead and devoid of any emotion, and it pushes her stomach all the way down through the floor, squishing her hopes of an easier reconciliation.  She swallows hard and wraps a blanket around her torso, watching as he pulls his clothing on without saying much else.  He’s halfway to the door when she interjects, not about to let him go that easily.    
“So that’s it?” She demands, tying the blanket at her side.  “You’re just going to walk out like none of this ever happened?  You aren’t even going to confront me like a man--.”

She jumps when his arm slams hard on the wall, denting it beneath his fist, and he lets out a low gasp of breath that he must have been holding since he’d spoken this morning.  She swallows hard, unsure what to make of his reaction, and when he spins around to face her his eyes aren’t Steve’s.  She’s not sure just who stares back at her--it’s certainly not the Captain America she’s come to familiarize herself with.  No, there’s something much darker in there, much more sinister.  He advances on her with quick paces, backing her up into a wall where he presses his hands on either side of her body to cage her in.  

“Let’s talk about it, then, Natasha,” he growls.  “Let’s talk about what I saw you and Loki doing.  Tell me, was it a one-time thing?  You just felt lonely and you needed someone to listen to you because, for whatever reason, you didn’t think I was good enough?”

“No--.”

“Or was it because he’s better at fucking you than I am?” She winces as he swears, the word sounding terrible and harsh as it leaves his mouth.  “Because I can try harder.  I think I showed you that last night.  I can change.  Loki?  He never will.  You gave him a chance and you didn’t work out.  So explain to me--talk to me about why it is you ended up in his arms again?  Huh!” He shouts the last word, slamming one fist into the wall just beside her head.  This time Natasha’s ready for it and doesn’t even flinch when he brings his palm down.  He laughs.  

“Oh, so cool.  So cunning.  It’s no wonder you went back to him; you do deserve each other.  What the hell was I thinking trying to get between you both?”  He sounds regretful, almost as though he’s in mourning of the idea, and it forces her to throw her hand out to grab his chin, turning his face around to her again.  

“Stop that,” she asks, though it’s more for her benefit than for his.  To hear him say such things makes it too real, makes her wonder if there’s any truth--but she can’t consider it.  The more she thinks about it the more of a good idea it seems, and didn’t she tell Loki that she was done for good?  Yes.  She needs to stick to that.  

“I want to be with you, Steve.  I made a mistake.  Several,” she fixes when he rolls his eyes.  “I really did and I’m sorry.  I’m so, so sorry Steve.  I didn’t think when I was doing it I just . . . acted on impulse.  It’s my fault, not yours.  You’ve been nothing but perfect and--.”

“Perfect’s not good enough for you, though,” he says.  It’s not a challenge but more of a sad acceptance, as though he doesn’t think himself able to live up to that, to compete, though Loki’s hardly perfect.

“No, that’s not it--.”

“Then what is?”

"I love you, Steve." She says it in a rush, her eyes meeting his now wide ones.  She licks her lips quickly, wishing her mouth wasn’t so dry as she moves closer to him, manages to lay a hand on his shoulder.  “I do.  I love you, and I’m a horrible person for taking so long to say it but . . . I’m sorry for what I’ve put you through, and I know you have every right to turn me down and tell me that last night was a mistake and that you don’t want to see me any more.  I’ll respect it, I promise.  But you have to know that I love you.”  She tries to lift herself up to her toes, to press a kiss to his lips, but he turns his head at the last moment and she settles for his jaw with a sinking heart.  She won’t cry this time, she promises herself.  He has every right to be mad at her like she said, but it had to come out there, had to be said.  When he’s unresponsive she pulls away from him, wrapping her arms around her chest and turns away to get her things together.  Might as well head back, she decides.  There’s nothing more for her here if Steve doesn’t change his mind or if she can’t change it for him.  

He reaches his hand out to take hers before she gets too far, and she hates herself for the hope that jolts in her gut at the touch, sure she's just going to be let down.

"Just give me some time," he murmurs, his eyes meeting hers. "I appreciate the confession but it's about a few weeks and one affair too late for me to take seriously right now. I'll head back to Shield in a few days and we'll talk about it then but right now I want some distance."

Natasha nods. It's a better outcome than she could've hoped for, and though she wants to kiss him she settles for squeezing his hand and moving to the bathroom to get dressed. When she comes out he's gone.

 

Loki bounces up and down on the balls of his feet as he waits for Natasha to come back.  He overheard Jarvis telling Stark that she was en route, alone, to the tower and he couldn’t help the way his heart had leapt into his throat at the news.  So she hadn’t been successful in bringing the good Captain back, then.  The knowledge had spurred him to set up what he would consider an elegant dinner, which was being kept warm and ready by the smallest of spells, wine and vodka already supplied.  He has plans to show her that if it’s something romantic he can give that to her, he just needs to be given the chance.  The opportunity.   Steve being gone is the perfect one.  When she touches down he immediately goes to see her, but he’s not ten paces out of his room when Bruce shows up.  The flash in his eyes tells Loki that the good doctor knows about his plans to bring Natasha back, and the firm set in his shoulders is enough to show that he’s not about to let it happen.  Though Loki is not so secretly terrified of the man’s alter ego he raises his chin in defiance, green eyes flashing.

“Doctor Banner, how pleasant to see you. Would you kindly remove yourself from my path?"

"No."

"Then unkindly remove yourself or I'll--."

"Do it for me?" Bruce's smile is dark, sarcastic, and sends a shiver noticeably down Loki's spine. Damn him. "Tony told me what happened. You have to let her make her own decisions, Loki."

The god scowls and in a moment he's on the other side of the scientist. "I don't know what your lover has told you, but I have been letting her choose. Thus far it's worked out in my favor, so you may want to check your data again, Doctor Banner, lest you make an ass of yourself through your assumptions."

Bruce opens his mouth, likely to tell him that the god has been spending far too much time listening to Tony talk, but Loki doesn’t stick around to hear any of it, already taking off to Natasha’s room.  

“If you cared for her at all you’d want her to be happy,” Bruce calls after him, his words echoing off the hallway but Loki pays no mind to it, taking the stairs to Natasha’s floor.  He breathes deep as he stands before her door, calming the nerves he’s surprised to find have risen up within him, and his knuckles rap sharply on the door.  He exhales, closing his eyes for the briefest of moments before they open at the same time her door does.  She scowls at him and makes to slam the door in his face but he wedges his foot in between the door and the jamb first, wincing as she pushes harder.  

“Leave me the hell alone,” she growls.  

“I came here to apologize,” he says quickly.  “And to say that I made your favorite dinner.  I was wondering if you’d accompany me.”  He levels his voice with sincerity as best he can, swallowing back the sentiment he’s surprised to find inside him.  She pauses, just as surprised as he is when she turns her head to face him.  Her eyes take him in and not for the first time he feels stripped bare to his bones under her gaze.  It’s unnerving to know that someone can see through him so simply, and he wonders if it is the reason why he’s so drawn to her, why he’s so determined to be with her.  He’ll offer her the apples of Idunn if she asks it of him; he’ll give her just about anything save distance.  He can’t bring himself to leave her alone and isn’t sure if he ever will be able to.  

“No.”  She says finally.  “You’ll start talking, and you have a nasty habit of changing my mind when you talk.  I don’t want to hear it, Loki.  I told you I was breaking things off with you--.”  
“Then just eat.  I won’t talk,” he says quickly.  “I promise I won’t say a word.  Just please, I want your company.  I missed you.”  He reaches a hand through the door, wedging himself further in.  He sounds pathetic and he knows it, nothing like his cocky usual self.  He hopes she can see that he’s able to change, to be more like the man she seems to want.  It makes her resolve weaken for a moment, he can see it in the way her eyes shift, suddenly more sad than anything else.  One of her widow bites is pressed into his palm before he can do much else and the electricity surprises him enough to make him stumble backwards.  She slams the door shut and locks it.  

“Cut out your tongue if you’re going to make promises you can’t keep,” she snarls from behind the wood.  

Loki just seethes, contemplates breaking down the door and manages to stop his hand a spare inch from the surface.  Damn her, damn her to Hel and beyond.  

“Fine!” He spits, whirling away.  “You’ll regret not coming back to me, Natasha--when you’re all alone with no one else to spend your days with.”  He feels the anger rolling through his veins, infusing his words until they’re practically hurled at her door.  He’s being pathetic and immature and he can’t care less.  He’s done all he can to show her he can at least try and change, but if she doesn’t want it then he won’t give it, but he’ll be damned if he lets it go that easily.  With one last contemptuous glare he storms away from her room, making yet another mess of everything as he passes.  Stark shouts at him, glaring as the furious god passes by, but Loki ignores him.  

“Don’t get pissed because she picked someone better,” he can hear Stark mutter under his breath and he has half a mind to whip around and drive a dagger deep into the man’s throat, to prove how mortal he really is without his damn suit, when he feels Thor’s hand grasp his wrist and pull him into his room, hissing for him to behave yourself.  

“You’re being a child,” Thor growls, his blue eyes stormy as the outside, the sound of the thunder outside already booming through his room, an apt prelude to the fight Loki was looking for.  He rips his arm away from his brother and growls that it’s none of his business what he does, especially since Thor has done much worse things in the past when he’s been spurned.  This simply makes his brother roll his eyes, shoving Loki backwards into a seat before he can do any more damage.

“Have I not grown in the time since then?” Thor demands, standing in front of his brother with his arms crossed over his chest and his gaze harsh.  “You’ve always been the more mature one despite being younger, so what does it say about your behavior when I’m telling you to grow up and act your age?”  

“It means that you ought to shut your mouth before I shut it for you,” Loki threatens though his words are empty, Thor knowing this as well as Loki does.  Thor just rolls his eyes and lets out a harsh laugh that only ratchets Loki’s tension up a few notches.  

“The Lady Natasha does not wish for your affections to be shown to her any longer, and you ought to respect her wishes.  Have you not been violated by one who had not a thought for your own desires?”

“When I was only following your fathers orders, yes, I was.”  Loki stands from his seat, rising until he’s up to Thor’s height and standing just in front of him.  “You have no right to bring Sleipnir into this, the situations are--.”

“Not all that different.  You are pursuing that which does not wish to be pursued.  If she did she would have responded in kind, not demanded you leave her alone.  Loki, I speak now to your reason.  Think on your actions before you cause more damage, this time irreparable. I cannot say with confidence that I will be able to protect you this time around from the fury of others, or shall I have Dr. Banner come in to teach you another lesson?”

That makes Loki go still, the god suppressing the shiver this time.  He hates that Thor is right, hates that he knows he has a point and that Loki is being a child.  His emotions swerve and, the fight and anger falling from him, he collapses onto the floor, feeling heat rise to his cheeks and a familiar pressure building behind the corners of his eyes.  Thor joins him soon after, never having seen his youngest brother like this before, and haphazardly he places a hand on Loki’s shoulder.  

“You must leave her alone.  You gave it your best shot but there is nothing more you can do.  Move on, brother of mine.  You’ll be all the more happy for it.”  Thor’s voice sounds reassuring, as though he can see as the Norns can and knows the future.  Loki very much doubts his words, however.  How can he be happy without the one that once made him so?  He swallows this question down and after some time swats Thor away.  He has apologies to be made and messes to clean up, and with dry, red eyes and a firmly set jaw he locks his emotions away to be dealt with in the evening, when there’s no one but himself to speak with.  His threat to Natasha echoes in his ears, about being alone and isolated and a hand of ice closes in on his heart and squeezes until he finds he cannot breathe.  He stands as Thor leaves him, waits for the moment to pass, for the anxiety to lift and the air to flood his lungs.  It’ll come, he promises himself.  It’ll come.  

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, note at the end today!   
> I promise Steve will make an appearance in the next chapter, but this one just felt like it had to be a little more Loki centered because, well, sorry but I'm having some emotions and it just sorta happened. Whoops.   
> Thanks as ever for the support and the comments, for keeping up with this crazy feeling-filled story and sorry for the spread of time between updates. I'll try and get better at updating more frequently haha. But we are drawing near an end to this story, as sad as I am about it, so if I take a little longer time than usual it's because I don't really want to be done with it xD endings freak me out.   
> Thanks again! <3


	6. Chapter 6

Natasha lets the water cover her face as she lays back down in the heated tub, closing her eyes so everything goes dark as well as muted.  She stays there for some time, slowly releasing bubble after bubble of oxygen until there’s nothing left in her chest.  Still she doesn’t come up, hands clasped at her side.  She stays there as her lungs begin to burn, sending frantic messages to the brain that she needs to breathe.  She needs oxygen and therefore must inhale.  She inhales she dies, and so she doesn’t.  She waits until the panic sets fire to her blood, till it races inside her and forces her heart into a frenzied jig and still she counts down the seconds.  

Ten.  

Nine.  

A hand on her shoulder nearly surprises her so much that she breathes in, but not a moment later she’s out of the water, spluttering, hair in her face as she turns to see Steve glowering down at her, concern hidden just behind the fear.  

“Dang it, Tasha, are you trying to give me a heart attack?” He growls as he slaps her on the back, ignoring her protests and her splutters as she tries to get a word in.  “As if I don’t feel guilty enough as it is when it’s not even my fault for what happened--.”

“Steve,” she finally chokes out, glaring up at him with fierce blue eyes.  “I’m not trying to.  I was thinking.”

A pause.  “Thinking?  But Jarvis said you were dangerously close to--.”

“You know who I am, Steve.  You really think I can manage to take a bath without it being at least somewhat dangerous?” She’s only half joking and he tries really hard not to smile at her.  “Besides it’s quiet there. It’s the only place I can shut everything up and just think.”  It’s not a line, it’s really not, and though she very much enjoys living she can’t help but find solace in the peace and tranquility that accompanies a near death experience, the way that accepting it simply makes all the other voices and the shouting in her head disappear, leaving her with a blank slate so she can actually think.  He doesn’t say a word at first, just turns to leave instead.  She doesn’t grab for him this time, watching his broad frame as it pauses just in the doorway.  

“I want to talk to you and Loki today,” he murmurs.  “Separate and then together.  I want to get to the bottom of this, and since he’s got more invested on telling the truth than you do I’m gonna hear him out.”  

Her stomach sinks a little but she nods.  That she’s lost his trust is a significant blow; she knows it’ll take years to build back up, especially to the level it was once at, but he’s worth it.  She can work at it because she knows that he needs the reassurance as much as she does that this can work, that even though she’s an idiot and made the biggest mistake of her life in involving herself with Loki again they can come back from it.  

At least she hopes so, and as it’s all she has left she clings to it like a drowning man does oxygen.  

“I loved you, you know that?”  He asks, turning to face her.

Loved?  She swallows hard at the past tense.  “Then I’m sorry to have lost it, Steve.  I really am.”  

He stares at her for a long time, his adam’s apple bobbing as he struggles to find words.  He’s never been particularly good with them, preferring to show rather than to tell, and an idea strikes her.  “When did you want to talk?”

“Later.  After I’ve settled in I guess.”  He shrugs.

“Wanna meet me in the training room first?” She asks, trying for a smile.  Maybe a good match will cheer him up, help him get some of the pent up aggression and emotion out.  

It’s apparently the wrong thing to say because his blank face turns into a scowl.  “No.  Last time I heard you were going to the training room you ended up in Loki’s bed; why would I bother taking that chance that you’ll somehow detour there again?”

“I’m not with him anymore--I broke it off,” Natasha insisted, stepping closer as her voice betrayed her hurt that he’d even consider that.  It was understandable, but that didn’t mean it didn’t sting like a bitch.  “I’m done with him.  For good.”

“You’ve told me that before, too.”

“Steve, you have to--.”

“I can’t trust you, Natasha.  I can’t!”  His hand slams against the wall behind him, denting it.  Natasha’ll get blamed for that when Stark patches it up later, or makes her do it, and she can’t help but let a small bubble of anger burst inside her.  

“Steve I fucked up, okay?  I’m owning up to it and coming to terms with it but if you’re not going to be able to look past it--because yes, it’s terrible--then fucking tell me that we’re done so I stop getting my damn hopes up.  It’s over between Loki and I.  For good.  No matter what happens I’m never going back to that asshole because he doesn’t make me feel nearly the way that you do.”

“What, like he’s dependent on you?” Steve muttered.  

“No, like I need him.  I need you, Steve.”  She admitted as her voice broke.  Her hands fist at her sides, nails piercing the skin of her palms gently as she looks down at the floor, licking her lips to try and find words.  How does one manage to cut out their heart and show what’s in it without bleeding to death, though?  Perhaps she’ll never find out.  

“I need you.  I need you because you’re so good, and you’re so not like me that it’s hard to remember that I need you because all I can think of is that I’m going to disappoint you.  I’m going to hurt you again, and betray you, and I can’t be as good as you want me to be.  I tried, but I can’t.  But I need you so I can at least pretend that I can be that good.”  With some reserve of strength she didn’t know she had inside her she looked up into his eyes, trying to find him in the depths of pain and betrayal she didn’t think she’d ever see leave him.  “I need you because when I’m with you I feel good.  I feel like what I do makes a difference, like I can be a positive influence on this world.  Like you.  I need to be with you because I’m a leech, and your happiness bleeds into my happiness.”  There wasn’t any other way to put it.  “And when you’re miserable I am, especially when I’m the cause of it.  I don’t mean to hurt you because it only hurts me in the end, but it happens. I’m not good for you, Steve, but I’m too damn selfish to let you go.  Please.”  There’s the begging again, the last word choking her as she struggles to get it out.  He hasn’t said a word throughout her entire confession, face guarded and expression blank as he refuses to give her any sort of idea what’s going on in his head.  

He leaves shortly after that, silent and retreating to the comfort and familiarity of his own room, she assumes, letting her crumble and succumb to the voices in her head, the ones she hasn’t heard since she was in the Red Room, lamenting about how useless she was.  How pathetic, and weak, and nothing that anyone wanted and everyone simply could ignore.  She knows it’s not fair to him, knows that she can’t come back from what she does and hates herself for seeming like the victim when it’s her fault for the whole damn situation, but her epiphanies and realizations only make the voices louder, and though she considers disappearing into the bathtub and not resurfacing this time around she simply shakes her head and grabs a pair of sneakers to go running.  Maybe, just maybe, if she goes fast enough she can leave all her problems behind her, too.  

 

Loki ignores the first time Steve bangs on his door, pretends he doesn’t hear the second, so by the third time Steve just breaks past the door and steps into the room anyway.  The god glowers at him from where he’s sitting at his desk.  

“What the bloody hell do you want?” He demands, turning from the soldier to his book.  

“In three hours I want to talk to you and Natasha together. I want answers for what’s been happening, and you two are going to man up and tell me.” Steve demands.  There’s no room for questioning there, no sort of way he can think to get out of it.  He knows if he doesn’t the captain will either take it upon himself to drag Loki to the meeting place, or else call upon Thor if Loki gets truly difficult.  Better not to chance it, he supposes.  He’s been humiliated enough.  

“Fine.  Where?”

“Library.  No one else will be there and it’s unlikely Clint will find out that’s where we’re going. I don’t want any interference.”

At least that made two of them.  Loki nods, pursing his lips as he turns back to his book.  

“You really thought she was going to pick you, didn’t you?” Steve asks before Loki can shout at him to leave.  It only riles the god up further, growling low in his throat as he slams the book shut and stands.  Before Steve can do a thing Loki is in his face, snarling with his hand at the soldier’s throat.  

“Don’t fucking say a thing to me about that,” he demands.

“She’ll never be with you.  She loves me.”

Loki winds back to strike Steve, about to punch him, but the soldier dodges and instead lands his fist into Loki’s gut, winding him in his surprise.  The god doubles over and Steve brings his knee cap to his face, feeling the man’s classic nose shatter under his force.  

“Don’t fucking try and mess with me again,” the soldier growled, bringing his elbow down hard on the back of Loki’s neck.   He could have disintegrated him there on the spot if he wanted, but the Allfather would never forgive him for breaking the tentative truce they had on Midgard.  So he let the pain ratchet higher and higher, ignoring the way the blood dripped down his nose and into his mouth.  “Don’t manipulate me, don’t lie to me.  Don’t. Mess. With me.  I’m a soldier and you’re a sniveling brat.”  He shoved the limp god back so that he tumbled onto the floor, a mess and glaring heatedly.  “Three hours.”  It’s the last words he says to Loki before stepping through the wreckage of the door.  Loki fixes it with a snap of his fingers, the wood moving back into place the same time that Loki’s nose snaps back, too.  

 

Steve’s all but bouncing on his feet as he waits for Natasha and Loki to show up later.  He can’t believe he’s going through with this, that he’s even entertaining the idea of talking with them or even coming back at all.  For a moment he wishes he’d stayed in Europe, seen the sights, started over.  Fury owed him so much more than just that, and he would’ve made him accept the Captain’s resignation.  But Steve wasn’t a runner, he didn’t quit, and he certainly wasn’t about to be run out of town by some lunatic who thought he was the best of the best.  As for Natasha.  He sighed and tried nto tto think about her or make a decision until he heard everything.  Not that he was sure he’d want to, but it was the right thing to do, even if he didn’t like it.  

It was Nat who showed up first ,looking as if she’d just finished a run, cheeks pink and eyes a little brighter than normal, hair tied back and arms crossed over her tank top.  Steve couldn’t help the way his breath caught in his throat, wishing he’d been a little more prepared for the way she always looked so beautiful no matter what the situation, but then?  When it was so close to how she looked after a fight, or a sparring session, when they’d gotten the most intimate and familiar with each other on and off the field, well, he had to push those thoughts away.  He had to keep strong.  She stood opposite him for a moment, looking around as a small smile quirked her full lips.  

“Hell of a place to pick.  Aren’t you supposed to be quiet in here?” She chances a fuller smile that makes Steve bite back a chuckle.  

“I didn’ twant to be interrupted--.”

“So shall I leave?” Loki’s dry response echoes in Steve’s bones, setting his teeth on edge and his heart racing to pummel the bastard into the ground.  

“After.  Now I want you to sit.”  He orders Loki, though it’s Natasha who follows orders, Natasha who’s used to the commanding voice of her Captain and following his orders.  Her immediate response lightens the burden on Steve’s shoulders, allowing him to relax.  It’s her way of saying that things aren’t going to be awkward if they end up working together again, and it’s more than he could’ve hoped for.  Nothing would get them killed faster.  She doesn’t look at him as she sits, her eyes on the ground, hands folded in her lap, at rest and yet ready to move into action.  He’s always admired the subtle strength in everything she does, how she can look so peaceful and yet flood his body with adrenaline and worry that with one wrong move or word she’d be set off.  

Again he has to push these thoughts out of his head.  Perhaps he’s not quite ready to face her, not just yet.  Not when the man he’d caught her legs wrapped around sits just on the other side of her, legs spread far apart and his own eyes staring mockingly up at Steve.  It’s all the soldier can do not to lay him flat on his back and beat his body until it breaks.  

Breathe.  He has to remind himself to breathe.  

“Who started everything?” Steve finally asks, barely finding the words after he struggles for a little bit.  He’s not quite sure how to word it.  What the hell, though, right?  He’s already caught them in the act, it’s not as though things can get any stranger or more awkward.  The two in front of him look at one another for the quickest of moments before Natasha turns back to Steve.  

“I did,” she admits and it’s enough to make Steve clench his jaw.  It’s not the news he’d like to hear.  Loki doesn’t say anything else and that’s enough to make Steve hate him all the more.  “It was just after you and I had started going on dates.  I was coming back from a stressful mission.  China, with Clint?  And I wanted to blow off a little steam.  You were skittish about doing much more than kissing, and it was my fault that I didn’t try and push myself too much in the training ring or at least talk to you about it.  But I didn’t, and so I went to Loki and, well, propositioned him.”

Loki smirked, obviously pleased with himself, and it’s all Steve can do to look away.  “And who kept it going?”

“The blame lies with both of us,” Loki said before Natasha could get another word in.  “She comes to me to fuck and, well, I’m sure you can understand why I won’t want to let her go.  She’s rather addictive in the bedroom, wouldn’t you say?” He asks, milking the situation for all it was worth.  

Natasha snarls for him to shut up, her eyes narrowing this time.  “Say one more rude thing like that and I’ll kick your ass myself,” she mutters.  

“That being said,” Loki says, pressing on and over her words.  “I care very deeply for Natasha.  I’d not have tried to keep her so hard just because she’s excellent at sex; if I wanted that I’d find a whore who catered to my appetites.  Natasha and I are too alike for me to let her go without a fight, as I told you Rogers, and I’m prepared to do anything and everything to get her.”

“I’m not something to have,” Nat says, rising from her seat to stand over towards him.  He simply smiles up at her, his expression softening in a way Steve never noticed before, staring up at the furious woman above him.  “I’m not an object that can be bought with your pretty words, Loki.  I thought you’d have realized that by now.”

“And yet they worked to get you back into my bed evening after evening,” Loki murmurs, reaching up to touch her cheek.  She slaps his hand away with a hiss.  Her fists clench and Steve can tell she’s running over the many different ways she’d fillet the man in front of her alive, but Loki’s words have a different effect on Steve.  

“So it’s not that Nat would often go to you, you’d beg her to come back, right?” He clarifies.  Loki rolls his eyes.  

“Beg is perhaps--.”

“The best word to put it,” Natasha cuts in.  “There’s nothing else to call it, Loki.  You say we’re similar, that we’re too much alike to be apart?  I’d rather be alone for the rest of my life than be with someone like you.  You’re terrible, cruel, and you’re not what I need in my life.  I’ve had enough of that.”

“Yet you kept coming back.”

“I’m stronger now.”

“Because you’re in front of your other ex lover?  I don’t think so, Natasha,” Loki says quietly enough to make her name sound like a caress.  It makes her shiver and Steve gives a low growl.  He doesn’t like where this is going, but just as he’s about to say something Natasha’s hand reaches out to Loki’s shoulder and her second one ends up punching him in the gut hard enough he loses his breath.  Natasha doesn’t even wince, pulling him instead by the chin until he’s so close they’re sharing breath.  

“Leave me alone, Loki.  I don’t want you anymore, and if you keep this up I’ll find a way to make sure your father hears about how you keep harassing me.  You may not respect me enough to listen to what I’m saying, which just proves that you’re nowhere in my league, but you will listen to him.”

The god stiffens beneath her, his eyes widening for a moment before growing cold.  He scowls and pulls away, standing up to shove past her on his way to the door.  

“I’m not done asking questions,” Steve interjects.  

“Fuck off, Rogers,” Loki shouts, turning on the man now.  “You want to know what happened?  Natasha and I fucked.  So what.  She loved me at one point and though she claims to love you she doesn’t know what it is.  She’s broken, damaged goods.  You want to try and put that together?  Be my guest.  The lady is yours--She doesn’t want me, and I want nothing more to do with either of you, so kindly fuck. Off.”  

There’s not much else to say to that, both of the Shield agents quiet as he storms through the doors and slams them behind him.  Steve looks over at Natasha, but it’s her that can’t bring herself to look at him.  

“I told you,” she murmurs before she steps past him and silently out the door.  He’s about to reach out to her when she pulls away from his grasp and disappears.  

 

He doesn’t find her for a few more days, having taken the time to go over the information presented.  Natasha seems to feel remorse for what she’s done, and while at least that’s a step in the right direction he’s not sure he can overlook that.  But a second chance . . . he’s gotten one before, and Natasha has proven that with one she’s able to come back and make herself better for it.  Perhaps she’s deserving of one.  But it’s a leap of faith he’s not quite sure he’s ready to make just yet.  When he does come to see her she’s reading, alone, in her room, looking up to smile up at him when Jarvis allows him to enter.  

“Steve.  Hi.”  She marks her place and stands up, smoothing her hands over her pants, as though she’s nervous.  Steve’s nervous, though he hates to admit to it.  “What can I do for you?” She asks.  

“Do you have a minute so we can talk?”

“Sure.”  She offers him a seat with a smile and puts her book down so that he has her full attention.  As if that helps at all.  

He waits a moment to figure out what he’s about to say, unsure just how he wants to word it.  “I’m sorry I haven’t been around as much, or been as . . . well, been what you needed me to be.  It’s not been easy for both of us it seems, and I wish I would have instilled more confidence that you could have spoken to me about the problems you thought we had.”  She opens her mouth to speak but he cuts her off.  He needs to get this out there.  “But in my time, when I grew up, you don’t throw something out just because it’s broken.  You fix it.  I want to try and give this another shot, and it’s going to be tough but I think, if you want to, we can try it.  Again.”  He swallows hard.  It’s the right choice, and if he thinks about it hard enough it’s the only choice.  “I can’t trust you just yet Natasha, but I think you can earn my trust, and I hope to earn your confidence if you’re willing to work with me on this.  I want to start over, Nat, give this another, honest shot.”

He looks up then, having been staring at his twisting hands on his lap, and is started to once again find her eyes with tears in them.  Did he say something wrong?  Without a word she stands up and moves in front of him, bending down to press her lips to his.  It’s soft, sweet, and tears at his heart with the familiarity of it all.  

“Please, Steve.  That’s all I want and I swear I’ll do whatever I have to to make it up to you.  I’m so sorry, so sorry for what I’ve put you through.”

He manages a small smile and nods.  It’s not going to be easy and they both know it, but she slips her hand into his and gives it a soft squeeze as though reading his mind and reassuring him that they can do this.  Together, they can work it out and get through it.  He holds the side of her face as she pulls away and smiles a little at her.

“Miss. Romanov?  It’s nice to meet you, I’m Steve Rogers,” he only half teases, taking her hand and pressing his lips to the back of it.  It’s enough to make her grin and blink rapidly to keep the tears away.  

“Oh Steve, you’re going to need something a lot more suave than that,” she winks.  “I’m not about to be wooed by some cute words and a big grin, not again.”

“Well, what do you say to a date, then?  Five o’clock tomorrow, dinner and dancing?”

“Sounds perfect.”  

He leans in to kiss her quickly but she shakes her head and pulls away with a laugh.  “Uh-uh.  No kissing till after the first date, soldier.  We’re gonna do this right because you deserve it,” she sobers up for a moment, expression serious as she looks down at him.  “I promise I won’t mess this up.”  

“Clean slate,” he says as he stands up beside her.  “I’ll only bring it up when I’m drunk,” he promises.  They both laugh at that, and his hold on her hand gets a little tighter.  It’s a start.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, it's finally done! Thanks so much for sticking around through this crazy feel-filled ride, and I hope you enjoyed it! One day I might to an alt ending to this, because not only did it turn out a lot more fluffy than intended but I'd kind of like to explore a second ending and how it'd impact everything else. 
> 
> Thanks so much for all the support everyone, it's been awesome! <3


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